Practical Experience
by terrified
Summary: A one-shot. Molly changes her mind and accompanies Sherlock on his little social experiment, resulting in a rather unexpected conclusion.


A/N: _I stayed up to write this because it just would not leave my brain. I am now drained, exhausted…but satisfied. :)_

* * *

**Practical Experience**

_Meaning you think I like a drink?_

_And that I'm a drunk?_

Why had she said that? Molly cursed herself internally for being so snarky to him earlier. To be fair, he deserved all the snarky comebacks she could conjure. After all, had he ever truly been nice to her? Not half.

Something in her couldn't resist the possibility though. And with that, her mind was changed. Molly quickly left work, put her coat on and went to look for Sherlock.

He was surprised to find her at his doorway. She looked a little flushed in the face, as though she had been running in the cold.

"Yes, Molly?" he said, inviting her in.  
"I had a little think…" she said, walking in and turning to face him, "And well, a little practical experience won't harm anybody." She gave him a little smile and quickly looked away.  
"Hmm." The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and settled in his seat, looking intently at her.  
"So. Where to?" Molly asked cheerfully. She hadn't even undone the thick scarf around her neck.  
"What about Tom?" Sherlock asked. His directness stunned the both of them.  
"It's just a drink…with Sherlock Holmes." she said, with a shrug.  
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, frowning.  
"Well, anything social with Sherlock Holmes is most likely an experiment. Which is what this is, isn't it?" she said, looking squarely at him, her brown eyes boring unflinchingly into his own pale ones. They seemed speckled with a bit more green today, as though bits of jade were woven through them.  
"I…suppose…it is." he said, with an awkward half-smile. That bothersome twitch occurred again, causing him to clench his teeth in irritation.  
"Right." Molly said cheerily, "So, where to?"

* * *

Her calculations had been spot-on. They finished the full round of pubs, drank the exact amount of alcohol they had permitted themselves (Molly had calculated her optimum intake ages ago and knew it by heart) and were walking straight and talking normally. Of course their cheeks were a little flushed, heart rates a little accelerated and there seemed to be a bit more lightness in the air surrounding them. But on the whole, it was all normal.

"So, a successful experiment?" she remarked, looking at him as they slowly walked down the darkened streets. It was about two in the morning and what pale moonlight that was left lent a glint to Molly's brown eyes.

"Hmm, yes." Sherlock replied, wrapping his coat tightly around him. He kept his gaze forward, his back ramrod straight, but he wasn't walking at his usual striding pace. Instead, his pace was gentle, matching Molly's ever so subtly.

"I'd better see you home." he remarked, his gaze not once shifting.  
"No, no, I'm fine. I'll be fine…" she said, stopping in her tracks.  
"I insist." He said, turning to face her at last. He smiled, faintly, and then returned his gaze to look ahead.

* * *

They walked quietly up the stairs that led to her front door. Molly reached for her keys, finding the correct one, before proceeding to unlock the door. When it clicked open, she pushed it just a few inches forward when she stopped. Turning to Sherlock who had stood quietly behind her all this while, she gave him a grateful smile. He returned her smile, just barely lifting the corners of his lips.

"Thanks for seeing me home." she said.  
"Not a problem." came his reply.  
"Would you…Can I perhaps offer you coffee, before you went back?" Molly asked, her hand still frozen on her doorknob.  
"I don't think Tom would like that…"  
"He isn't here."

Sherlock's face softened and his eyes widened in what could only be described as pleasant surprise. A few moments of silence elapsed as the pair stood and stared at Molly's doorway.

"He isn't?" said Sherlock at last.  
"No…No, he isn't." Molly said, feeling the slightest rush of heat to her face.  
"Well…"  
"I know you'd love some." she said, turning to walk into her flat at last, "Come on."

The detective obliged, stepping cautiously into her flat and shutting the door behind them. What he was being so cautious about, he wasn't sure. But the air was now thick with an inexplicable mix of emotions. Certainly different from the lighted-headedness (and light-heartedness) from before.

While Molly pottered around in the kitchen, Sherlock looked around her flat, studying it carefully. He knew this flat well enough to observe what was different. He noticed the awkwardly similar-looking Belstaff coat hanging on her coat rack. Glancing around, the presence of Tom in Molly's life was slowly revealing itself. There was a stack of unpressed men's shirts lying in a heap at the foot of her bed. Her television now had a game console connected to it. When he stole way into her bathroom he noticed the bottle of aftershave placed next to Molly's jasmine hand soap.

"Sherlock?" came Molly's voice from the dining area.  
"Coming…" he said, quickly shuffling out of her bedroom.  
"There's nothing for you to nick here," teased Molly, setting the steaming cup of black coffee before him, "I don't bring my work home."  
"Sorry, I was just, you know, thinking…I tend to wander around when I do."  
"Yes, I know." she answered, taking a sip of her own mug of camomile tea.

As he sipped his coffee, what started as a small irritation, like a small itch, began to creep deeper and deeper under his skin. The more he ran through Tom's items in Molly's flat, the more agitated he got. With the addition of the caffeine and a whole night of (measured) drinking, the irritation was starting to come in waves. His eyes glazed over as he tried to stave off the agitation, trying his best to remain civil.

"Sherlock?"  
"Hmm?" he answered, his jaw tight.  
"You okay?"  
"Fine, I'm fine." he answered, smiling blankly, bringing his coffee cup to his mouth.  
"Hmm, right…" Molly replied, quietly sipping her tea.

The agitation reached its peak. It had now crawled into his ribcage and dug its insidious claws into his lungs. This sort of asphyxiation was familiar, but when the pressure began to surround his heart, Sherlock panicked internally. This was unfamiliar. Not to mention, unwanted.

"Do you mind if I smoked, Molly?" he asked brusquely, already reaching for a secret cigarette he had hidden with his toolkit.

Molly's eyes widened in shock and set her cup down firmly. She glared hard at him as he pulled the cigarette out and lit it without so much as a moment's pause for her to consent.

"I most certainly do mind, Sherlock Holmes." she exclaimed.  
"Sorry, too late…" came his muffled answer as the cigarette dangled between his lips.

Molly watched in anger as the glowing end of the cigarette grew and ebbed with every breath he drew from the foul stick of nicotine. His coffee had grown cold as he sat there and smoked, with an almost ferocious fervour. He sucked the air in as though his life depended on it, keeping it in his lungs. A thin, grey stream of smoke then followed his every exhale, as he expertly shaped his mouth to keep the smoke streamline. He said not a word and Molly was too angry to find any words to say.

Just as the spark of agitation had ignited Sherlock to reach for his nicotine, the same spark set itself off in Molly too. She reached forward suddenly, yanking the cigarette from his slim fingers and put it out in his coffee. He looked at her, flabbergasted and she merely stared back.

What Molly did next surprised them both. She reached for him, taking his face between her hands and kissed him. With every fibre of who she was and what she had always felt, Molly kissed him. The taste of nicotine and the scent of ash lingered on his perfect mouth. Molly pressed her lips firmly to his, kissing him hard, as though she could kiss away the awful trace of the cigarette that had hung between his lips. Her kiss eventually coaxed both their mouths apart, the evidence of the cigarette fast ebbing as Molly now tasted the tip of his tongue. Sherlock's breathing had gone erratic, as had hers. They were almost gasping _for _each other, as she kissed him harder and faster. And he responded in kind.

When she was done and convinced there was no more trace of him having smoked, she pulled slowly away from him, her eyes shut from the bliss of having tasted him. Sherlock's lips stayed parted as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes wide from wonder and the sensory overload.

"I'm…sorry…." Molly whispered fiercely to him. Her hands remained holding his face, while hers stayed close enough for their noses to touch  
"What could you be sorry for?" he asked, just as quietly. His chest rose and fell from the rapid beating of his heart.  
"For kissing you…" she answered, closing her eyes trying not to let a single tear escape. The kiss was more than she had ever imagined and she now mourned having experienced it at all. She was now going to have to live with just the memory, and it broke her heart.  
"Molly…" he whispered, "Molly Hooper…"

Sherlock's hand reached deftly for Molly's left hand, slowly entwining his fingers with hers. Molly let out a sigh, smiling as she relished the closeness of him and the sensation of his hand on hers. Without warning, Sherlock's fingers found the little band of silver and gems on Molly's hand and slowly began to ease it off. She gasped and removed her hand from his face. Sherlock persisted, keeping her hand firmly in his as the ring eventually slid off. He dropped the ring into the mug of coffee that now held the floating cigarette. It fell in with a splash and disappeared under the murky, ash-filled liquid.

"Molly Hooper…" he continued, drawing her to him for another kiss. "You forget."  
"What?" she asked, her heart beating so fast it felt like it was humming.  
"That I lack the practical experience." he said, his face brightening into a smile. A _proper _smile. She had not seen him smile like that in ages.

With a beautiful smile like his, a smile that genuinely came from the depth of what Sherlock could call a heart, Molly couldn't resist smiling herself, laughing quietly as tears streamed slowly down her face.

"Well," she said, taking his hand and bringing it up to her lips, "Where do I come in?"  
"You tell me, Molly Hooper," he said, the spark in his eyes dancing.  
"Can't you just work it out?" she asked, biting her lip to suppress a cheeky grin.  
"I wouldn't know where to begin." he answered, amused at her suppressed grin.

Molly thought for a moment before breaking into a beautiful smile. She brought her lips close to his and this time, his mouth knew what to expect and therefore what to do. They kissed slowly, tentatively, carefully taking in every second of the sensation.

"Let's begin where we left off, shall we?" Molly whispered, her lips poised just below his ear.

With a smile, Sherlock nodded, letting her lead him somewhere a little more comfortable, for a little more practical experience.

**End**


End file.
